


In Wolf's Clothing

by blackchaps



Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: Biting, Drinking, M/M, Poor Life Choices, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-19
Updated: 2015-03-19
Packaged: 2018-03-18 14:59:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3573983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackchaps/pseuds/blackchaps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt:</p><p>Request 2: Pairing/Character(s): Beecher/Keller<br/>Keyword/Prompt Phrase: "It's not because I'm sad that I sing all night long, I'm looking for someone to love and this is my love song"- Full Moon Full of Love, K.D. Lang<br/>Canon/AU/Either: AU<br/>Special Requests: Werewolf!Keller. Some angst, happy ending, and smut's always welcome ;)<br/>Story/Art/Either: either</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Wolf's Clothing

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Getting drunk was the best part of any day, and the drive home was the most dangerous. Toby might've been an alcoholic, but he was no fool, and he took the back streets, going slowly and avoiding trouble.

The trouble right now was that he'd spent the afternoon at Oswald Correctional Facility, meeting with the unluckiest client his father had ever taken a retainer from. Toby hated that damn place. It gave him the creeps, and he never stopped checking over his shoulder until he settled into his car.

Sometimes, he thought his dad sent him out here as a lesson. Groping under the seat, he found a half-empty bottle of bourbon and took a healthy slug before starting the car. That was better - nothing like liquid courage to get him headed for home. The drive would be almost an hour, and after seven big drinks, Toby thought maybe he should get off the damn Interstate.

The GPS showed him an alternate route, and he made the turn carefully. It was still daylight out, but he didn't rush, enjoying the bottle. The sun sank behind the trees, and he passed a few farm houses. It'd been a good decision to come this way. A surprise stop sign danced in front of his eyes, and he'd stop twice at the next one because it was far too late to do anything about this one.

A sudden flash of something big in front of the car, a horrible thump, and he slammed on the brakes without thinking. The jolt made his head spin, and after shutting off the engine, he fumbled open the door, almost falling in the dirt.

"Oh, fuck." His stomach heaved, and he puked into the ditch three times before even attempting to stagger to the front of his car. The headlights confused him, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to focus. There was definitely something dead, but he wasn't sure what the hell it was. Tentatively, he nudged it with his foot and spotted what had to be a tail. It was damn hard to tell with the lights swirling and the dust flying, and somehow it had managed to get dark, very dark.

"I killed a dog?" Bile gagged him, and he braced his hand on the hood, vomiting again. When he straightened, guilt - not much but some - made him peer up and down the road. At the extreme of the light, he thought he saw a mailbox, and he stared down at the huge lump of fur before forcing his legs to take him that way.

It took forever to get to the farmhouse, set a little ways off the road, and if there hadn't been lights on, he'd have turned back. As it was, he twisted his ankle, ruined his shoes, and finally noticed that his glasses were missing. They must've flown off when he hit the... dog, or thrown up.

He pounded on the door, praying no one with a shotgun would answer, and when the door jerked open, he gasped in relief.

"Hello?" The big, burly farmer frowned, not opening the screen door or offering to let him inside.

"I, ah, hate to tell you this, but I think I ran over your dog." Toby rushed on, "I'm really sorry. I'll pay for him. Will a hundred be enough?"

There was a long pause, and then the farmer stepped outside, looking up at the black sky.

"Sir?" Toby paused in his search for his wallet.

"Mister, I don't have a dog. Not since the last one got eaten by something. If I were you, I'd get your ass home before something bad happens." The door slammed, and he jerked backwards, falling off the porch. Stunned, he lay in the grass, thinking that if he were lucky, this would be a drunken dream, and he'd wake up on the floor of the bathroom with his mother glaring at him.

Grunting, he managed to get up, angry at the dew on the grass, the stupid farmer, and the dumb dog. The anger helped him get back to his car, and as soon as he was within sight of it, he dug out his cell phone. Maybe he should call his father, ask for help.

The dog was gone. He stopped dead in the road, squinting, but it wasn't there, and he didn't know whether to be relieved or freaked out. Hurrying now, he got in the car, slammed the door, and dialed.

Nothing. He put his phone closer to his face and saw the 'no service' light. Giving up, still nauseated, he started the engine and popped open the glove box. No booze, damn it, and he took another minute to rummage under the passenger seat. All he found was an empty whiskey bottle, and he let it fall.

Looking up, the weight of the night pressed in on him, and he jerked the car into gear. Dirt flew as he accelerated, but he didn't care about anything but getting home.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Care to tell me, son, why the car looks like hell?"

Toby struggled to find his glasses, remembered that he'd lost them, and more or less fell out of bed. "Hi, Dad."

"Your mother and I were worried about you." His father didn't step inside, but his sniff was audible. "Tobias, in case you didn't know, it's Saturday. Take care of the car, then we'll talk about the case, and I believe you have a date with that young lady of yours tonight."

"Genevieve," Toby breathed; his morning hard-on twitching in hopes that this time she'd let him do more than kiss her. They'd been going out for about six months, and he knew she wanted a ring, but he really wanted to fuck her first. "It's Saturday?"

"God, son, get a grip." His father shut the door hard, and the hangover hit him in a wave, but it was a mild one compared to the usual. For once, he didn't have to run to the bathroom. Hunkering down in his covers, he hid from the sun and decided to sleep until he had to piss.

His mother had other ideas. "Tobias, get in the shower!"

He groaned and waved a hand at her. She mistook that for encouragement to start ranting at him about his life, his drinking, and her love for him, and the shower became a blessed refuge.

Copious amounts of coffee got him dressed and out the door, and he stood in the driveway, blinking against the harsh sunlight. The car looked like a drunk had parked it. Part of him flushed with the shame, and the other half surged with anger. If his father would hire him a damn chauffeur, this wouldn't happen to him!

Yanking the car door open, he stopped in shock. There was dark red blood smeared on the back seat, and he was damn sure that it hadn't been there yesterday. A chill skipped down his spine, forcing him back, and he heard his keys hit the concrete.

"Toby? Everything okay?"

Toby plastered a smile on his face, turning to face his father, who was peering at him from the front stoop. "I'm fine! Just tired!" He scooped up the keys, jumped in the car, and drove around back. This one time, he'd wash the damn car himself. He refused to think about the blood, hoping he'd imagined it and cursing the fact that while his father was a wealthy man, he preferred a more middle-class lifestyle, which did not include chauffeurs!

It did however include a maid, and Toby got a bucket and a sponge from her. He used detergent for soap, considered getting a beer, ducked his mother's glare, and started scrubbing. The maid, Consuela, did bring him coffee, and he thanked her in Spanish.

"Cuidado, Señor. Hay cosas en la noche."

He stayed directly in front of her so she couldn't spot the blood on the backseat. His Spanish was pretty good, but he had no idea what she was talking about, and the coffee was excellent. He vowed to work on his mother so she wanted a chauffeur. Whatever his mother wanted, she got. When his cup was empty, he went back to work.

This time, he washed the seats – leather of course - before anyone else came out to check up on him. The blood was sticky and disgusting, and he had to breathe through his mouth to not vomit, and his mind skittered in a million directions trying to figure out why it was there in the first place. Nothing made any sense, unless someone was playing a prank on him, and he'd rather pretend that was possible in their gated community than consider the only other place he'd seen blood lately.

The dog had crawled off to die.

No doubt about it, and Toby would not entertain anything else. This was a prank, and he scrubbed harder. It smelled terrible, and he dry-heaved once or twice, glad he hadn't eaten. When the seat was clean, he bolted out, taking big gulps of air, and grabbed his cup to go get more coffee.

He'd think about his date, nothing else. Nothing.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Toby's mother had insisted they come back after dinner for coffee, and Toby was unable to tell her no and make it stick. Genevieve hadn't frowned or groaned though when he'd told her, and he could only hope she didn't think her turn was coming. No one bossed him like his mother, and he didn't always listen to her.

Dinner went as planned, delicious, and she might have frowned at him for his second vodka tonic. He wasn't sure, and she wasn't a pouter, so he deftly changed the conversation to their recent encounters at their country club. She told him several amusing stories about people he didn't remember as they ate, and he noticed she pushed the food around more than eating it.

"How do you like working for your father's law firm?" she asked, and he couldn't help the instant flush of shame. He tried to tell a funny story, but corporate law was never witty. His third drink helped, and then she suggested they dance a bit. He held her a little closer than was formal, and once he dared cup her ass, but she moved away instantly. Doing his best not to sigh, he made it through the rest of the song, and then suggested they leave. Her look of relief was obvious.

He drove without worrying. He hadn't had near enough to make him even tipsy, much less drunk. She glanced over at him several times, and he tried to smile reassuringly. Everything was fine. They were fine. He parked, got her door, and tried very hard to steal a kiss. She deftly avoided him, and he ground his teeth in frustration.

His mother ushered them inside, and he headed straight for a drink instead of listening to them talk about the weather. He downed one before pouring another and taking it to them where they'd settled into the formal living room. Genevieve had coffee, naturally, and his mother's eyes were sharp.

They talked of dinner and mutual friends, and he drank. He would've gotten another, but Genevieve caught his arm when he tried to leave. It was a very gentle pressure, but he didn't get up. His mother gave a small nod, and he narrowed his eyes, feeling manipulated.

"Your mother is so lovely. You're lucky to have her," Genevieve said.

He smiled because it was expected it of him and drained the last drop of his scotch. His mother's laughter with Genevieve slowly bled away, and he saw her go to Plan B.

"Tobias, why don't you take Genevieve out to the patio? You can enjoy the evening." She deftly snagged his scotch and Genevieve's empty coffee cup. When he didn't move immediately, her voice went a notch firmer. "Lovely to see you again, Genevieve. Please give our regards to your family."

Genevieve popped to her feet. "I will." She blushed prettily, and Toby would get under her skirt tonight or die trying. He gave her his arm, wished for his drink, and took her out on the back patio. The grounds were large, well-manicured; because of course they had a team of gardeners. Middle-class. Right. His father was delusional.

"Does your family have a chauffeur?" he blurted, glad the shadows hid his immediate blush. He should've been trying to kiss her, not griping about cars.

"Yes, but it's nice when a man drives." She curled into his shoulder, and he took her down the tiny path, making up his mind to hire his own damn driver. Shoving that thought aside, he edged his hand closer to her breasts. Once they were far enough away from the house, he gently pulled her to a stop and kissed her. The full moon shone down on them, and it was romantic enough that he tried to slide his hand up her thigh.

She took him by his wandering hand, refusing to open her mouth for tongue, and Tony knew then that he'd have to put a ring on her finger before he'd get laid. He should've brought his drink. Suddenly, she jerked away.

"Did you hear that?" She looked wildly about, and he listened, but there was nothing. Trembling, she cuddled into his chest, and he knew he was in solid. He groped under her skirt, kissing her with plenty of tongue, and she squeaked and wiggled. A crashing sound far too close made him flinch, and she shoved at him. He peered into the shadow, the smell of blood suddenly in his nostrils, and he spun as something caught his eye.

Nothing.

"Let's get back to the house," he whispered, and he tried not to trample her to get there. Her breath came fast, and he panted alongside her. Back on the patio, he tried to make a joke of it, chuckling. "I think we're over-reacting to a cat."

Her eyes were blown wide. "Were you trying to scare me into your arms?" Anger laced the words, and her tiny hands balled into fists.

"No!" He could see that she didn't believe him. "I wouldn't!"

"Everyone said you were a drunk, but I didn't believe them!" She slapped him across the face. "And no girl likes to be mauled!"

Toby tried to grab her by the arm, apologize, but she whirled away from him. "I'll call a cab!" The French doors almost slammed in the wake of her anger, and he took that to mean that he wasn't getting under her skirt, ever. Slumping down in a chair, he rubbed his face and decided to switch to vodka. His father's taste in scotch was terrible.

Another bush crackled, and he ignored it. A fucking cat had ruined his life. His mother was going to be after him until he found another girl as nice as Genevieve.

A low-pitched growl sent the hair on the back of his neck straight up, and he jumped to his feet. "That isn't funny!" he yelled into the night. A skitter of something in the dark, and he turned fast.

Nothing.

"God damn it," he said, kicking a chair. Right behind him, he heard an answering snarl. He whipped around and froze. Every part of his body came to a complete stop. Blue, blue eyes, set in jet-black fur, and that was no dog. No dog had ever been born that big. The... thing lowered his head, flattened his ears, and growled. Toby whimpered, "Good dog?"

The huge animal picked up one enormous paw, took a step, and the ground rushed up, swallowing Toby whole.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Drunk again."

Pain slapped across his face, waking him in an instant, and he cowered behind his arms. "Stop!"

"Son, get in the house before you freeze to death!"

"It's not cold," Toby mumbled, but he staggered to his feet. The memory of the beast slammed into him, and he grabbed onto his father's arms. "Did you see it? Did you?"

His answer was a furrowed brow and pitying eyes. Toby yelled, "I'm not drunk!"

"Right. Go to bed. Tomorrow is church." His father started maneuvering him, and Toby agreed that going in the house was a fine idea. He beat it inside, made sure the door was locked, and closed the drapes. Strong hands caught him around the arms. "Bed. No more whiskey tonight."

Toby bit his lip, wanting to scream at him, but it'd serve no purpose. "Not drunk."

"Right." His father started hustling him to his bedroom. Toby staggered a little, and he tried to walk straight, but fear made him clumsy, and he groaned. That thing, that thing wanted to eat him, payback for running it over. Falling more than sitting, Toby collapsed into his bed with a groan.

"Son, sleep it off."

Toby didn't protest his innocence again. He waited until his father had left and then locked the door. It wouldn't keep the beast out, but it was better than nothing.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The disapproval of his mother was palpable, and that combined with the shaking of Toby's hands and a fierce headache made the morning almost unbearable. It was only to escape her that he made his way out onto the patio and the safety of an out of the way niche that held a wicker divan, weather-proof, of course. Even the weather conspired against as the sun beamed its brightness right into his brain. Groaning softly, he leaned over and tried to think. Think. He could do it.

It had been real. He'd heard the growls, seen it, and Genevieve had heard it too. Toby hadn't been drunk, and he wasn't hallucinating this time. The damn thing had been enormous, jet black, and--

"You need some help?"

Toby looked up into the blue, blue eyes, recognizing them instantly. It wasn't possible, damn it, and he could only stare, unable to force words from his mouth.

"Oh, Tobias, there you are. I see you've met Chris. He's with Smith Landscaping." His mother paused. "You know I like to meet all the people who are going to be on the grounds."

He did know that, but he couldn't look away from the blue, so blue. The eyes flared, widening, and he managed to gaze up at the jet black hair.

"He okay?" Chris asked, big smile and white teeth, and Toby flinched to see them.

His mother said nothing, but the pity in her eyes was impossible to miss. "I don't know. Tobias?"

A hard, deep shudder and Toby found himself on his feet. Chris was taller, wider, bigger than him, and those eyes shone with laughter. Toby felt his knees quiver and his belly muscles tremble, and he could only nod.

"Maybe you should stay home from church today," she said slowly. "Breaking up with Genevieve has obviously devastated you."

He managed another quick nod, took his mother by the arm, and got them both in the house before they were devoured by those very white teeth. Toby made sure the patio door locked and then bolted to the buffet to pour a healthy drink. His hands shook spasmodically, and he slopped whiskey everywhere. He reached with his lips, desperate for that sweet oblivion, when his gaze happened to collide with the image in the large mirror.

Chris smiled at him, just beyond the patio door, and there was a promise on that mouth.

The glass hit the floor, and he jerked around to see no one, no one at all.

"Toby, go rest," she whispered. Her hands fluttered towards him, but he rushed away to the closet, his jacket, and his car keys. Out of here was the only solution, and he nearly screamed when his father took him by the arm.

"No keys. I hid them. Toby, you need help."

"What I need is the fucking keys!" Toby yelled, feeling every muscle in his body jerk. "Please, please, please!"

"No." Strong hands wrapped Toby tight and forced him down the hallway to his room, again, and he didn't bother struggling. His father was twice the man that he was.

"Dad! Please!"

"Sleep." His father shut the door hard, and Toby wanted to claw at it. Bile came up, and he rushed to his bathroom, throwing up violently into the toilet. It hurt, burning his throat and nose, and he sobbed uncontrollably. His life was absolute hell. Slumping into his arms, he hated his life and his parents and his damn car and stupid Genevieve. Damn it, he was a grown man, living at home, trying to please them.

His vision twirled around, and he puked almost nothing. Desperate, he crawled to the door, pulled himself up, and determined that he would find a bottle of whiskey, right damn now.

His first two hiding places yielded nothing, but the third gave up a bottle of vodka, and he sighed happily as he fumbled the lid off. Before he could even raise it to his lips, an unearthly howl roared through his room. He spun in a tight circle, cursing that he was on the first floor, and Chris grinned at him through a window.

"No! No! No!"

A pink tongue lolled out, licked the glass, and Toby sagged to his knees. He shivered, abruptly giving up. His parents had left him to this, and he couldn't run worth a damn. Chris crooked his finger at him, and Toby didn't question his next action.

He opened the window, sliding back down to the floor to crouch when Chris glided inside. His intense eyes and his grin were firmly in place, and Toby whined as the vodka was taken from his hand, capped, and tossed out the window.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm letting you off the hook for running me over. You were drunk, you asshole."

Toby rocked back and forth, clutching his knees with his arms. "Just kill me and get it over with."

"Well, I do want to eat you, but I think you'll like it." Chris smirked, tossing his head back and howling softly. Toby shook like a leaf and tried to crawl away. Chris scooped him up and put him on the bed. "You look like shit, Tobes. First day off the bottle?"

"Yeah." Toby found his hands tangled into Chris' T-shirt and didn't pull away. "Don't call me that."

"Too rich to have a nickname, huh?" Chris laughed and tucked his face into Toby's neck, licking. "Taste good." 

Confusion, bewilderment, and fear raced inside Toby's veins. "I'm sorry I ran over you."

"You drink too damn much. No more. It smells bad." The beast smiled at him, but there was nothing friendly about it. "Still, I got a ride out of the deal. I was fucking tired of eating dogs and chickens."

Toby sincerely did not want to know what that meant. He gulped, "You're leaving now? Use the window, please?"

Chris laughed, and there was a trace of a growl inside it. "I smell booze on you again, and I will bite you." He moved fast, grabbing a mouthful of Toby's neck. Toby arched, yowling, and he saw sparkles as Chris chewed him.

"The only reason I didn't kill ya was because you smelled great underneath all that fucking booze. When you get your keys back, we'll blow this town." Chris licked across Toby's panting lips. "Vegas, baby. So much to eat there."

"Oh, God." Toby screwed his eyes shut and prayed for something, but he didn't know what. Chris groaned a husky sound and then flipped the duvet over him. There was a click as the window shut, and Toby tried to breathe. He tried. He was so dead.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Work. He had to go to work, and his father, by God, was giving him the fucking keys to the car. Granted, it wasn't even Toby's car, but that wasn't the point.

"I need a damn drink." The smell of breakfast made him gag, and he shoved away from the table.

"Tobias, you need to go speak with your father."

Toby nodded to her and slammed his way through the house until he found his father, ensconced in his office.

"What?" Toby nearly snapped his fingers for his keys, but something in his father's look kept him from it. "I'm going to be late."

"You're not going." Mr. Beecher, senior partner, Toby's father, pointed at the chair in front of his desk, and Toby sat down before even thinking about it. "Your work out at Oswald was horrific, and I have to fix that this morning. Officially, you're on a leave of absence."

Ten different things scurried through Toby's brain all at once, and he heard himself give a small gasp. "That guy's an asshole!"

"That asshole is our client." The look of disapproval cut through Toby again, even though he really should've been used to it. Mr. Beecher continued, "I fully intended for you to be enrolled in a private inpatient program, but your mother and I disagreed on this point.

"She sets great store in our new pastor and arranged for him to stop by today. He'll tell you about the Alcoholics Anonymous program at our church. I expect you to listen, nod, and agree to whatever he says. After that, we'll discuss if you can return to work."

Fury. Toby swelled up with it. "None of this is my fault! It's that damn--"

"Stop," Mr. Beecher cut him off with one word and a quick gesture that broked no talking back. The fury and rage balled up in Toby's throat with nowhere to go, and he snarled a few choice curse words that his boss and father completely ignored.

"Dad, I'm doing my best," Toby tried, hearing the echo of the words down through the years.

"No, you're not," his father said heavily. "I'm sorry, Toby, but it's time for some tough love. Do as your mother wants. It's for your own good."

The fury tipped right over into rage, and it hit Toby in the face again that he was a twenty-five year old man, living at home with his mommy and relying on his daddy for a job. He'd graduated near the top of his class, passed his bar exam with honors, and yet here he was – stuck at home.

"Toby, don't pour that drink."

Toby blinked; he'd been unaware that he'd crossed to the tiny inset bar. He almost chugged it out of rebellion. "Alcohol never lets me down."

"Neither do I. I wish I could say the same for you."

Anger dropped right into despair as the words struck him deep. He swallowed hard, searching for excuses, reasons, and the fog born from his desire for alcohol made it so hard to think. He swiped a hand across his eyes, not protesting when his father took the drink from his hand.

"Son, we love you."

They both heard the 'but' that hung in the air between them. Toby couldn't control a bone-deep wince. He'd let them down by drinking, smoking pot, and more drinking, but it felt so much better to fail on purpose than to wait and fail by accident. And he would fail. He'd learned that early in his life. Alcohol had given him strength, courage, and the will to face his life.

Without another word, he left his father's office and went to his room. He slammed the door, locked it to keep his mother out, and went to stand by the window. Shoving his shaking hands in his pockets, he lowered his head and tried to make a decision about his life.

Nothing but a bone-crushing desire to crawl in a bottle – that was how he felt, and he didn't try to push the shame away. It swallowed him whole, and there was no booze in his blood to make it less.

A flash of movement made him look up, and he knew who it was before their eyes met. Chris – the beast – licked his lower lip, and Toby's breath caught in his throat. Chris wanted him. _Wanted him._ No one ever wanted him, not for anything.

Wondering if his hands would ever stop shaking, he slowly opened the window. Chris bore him to the floor, tearing the tie and shirt away to reveal Toby's marked throat.

"I gotta taste you."

Teeth dug in hard, and Toby arched into it. It hurt. It felt so good, and he cried out softly, wanting more and more. The pain was almost as good as booze at pushing aside his wretchedness.

"I didn't drink," he whispered.

"And ya won't, if you like your skin on your bones." Chris growled against Toby's collarbone, licking now, and Toby was sure he was bleeding. Running his hand up, Toby got a good grip of black hair and held on tightly as Chris' teeth and mouth went searching for new places to bite and lick. He didn't presume to think that he was guiding him. No, it was more like hanging on for dear life as he was consumed by a man beast.

"I can't--"

The shift took place so fast that Toby by the time he opened his mouth to scream a big paw hit him right in the teeth. Terror choked off whatever protest he was going to make about how his future plans in life did not include being a mate to a werewolf.

"Sorry," Toby whispered around the paw. His mouth hurt, but curiosity suddenly shoved aside a dose of fear. "I thought the moon had to be out? And shouldn't it take longer to change? And honestly, blue eyes?"

Chris lifted his paw, his tongue flipped out, and he licked Toby from chin to forehead.

"Get off me! That is disgusting!" Toby pushed and strained, and Chris basically sprawled on him, until finally he deigned to slide to the side. It was totally wrong to start laughing, but Toby couldn't help it, between the fur and the licking. Blue eyes laughed with him, and he ended up curled around the big lump of wolf. "I don't like you, not a bit. You're pushy, evil, and you took away my booze," the instant growl didn't slow him down, "and werewolves aren't real, and you scared off my girlfriend!"

Chris let out a long sigh that had a definite soft howl inside. Toby felt the shift before he saw it, and suddenly he was wrapped around a man, who smirked.

"I like you. Might not eat you." Chris' voice purred over him. "You get the keys?"

The question brought reality slamming back into him, and he flopped back flat from despair. Chris curled over him, tilting his head, and Toby couldn't help but smile after his dramatic groan.

"Go away."

"Nah." Chris kissed him. A real kiss, one that scorched right down to Toby's cock and made it stand up to take notice. Chris humped into him, slowly pressing them together. Hot hands tore at Toby's clothes, and he couldn't remember why he'd been going to protest.

"Wait. No, don't smack me with your paw again! Just wait!" Toby pushed until he could see Chris' face. "Can I at least smoke pot every now and then?"

Chris' eyes narrowed, and the soft growl made Toby's hair prick up. "You’re a piece of work, Toby."

Toby slid his hand around to grab a nice handful of Chris' ass where his jeans slacked open. "Forget it. Bed?"

Now Chris grinned, and Toby squeaked when he was lifted and tossed. Before he completely settled, Chris covered him, biting and snarling in a way that should've been ridiculous but was more than sexy.

"Ow!" Toby flailed, shoved futilely, and then stared at his nipple. Chris lapped at the blood, moaning and groaning, and Toby was pretty sure he should run. "That hurt," he murmured, watching Chris' lips stain red.

"Good," Chris mumbled, grinning quickly and ripping Toby's pants off. Shoes didn't slow him down, and Toby couldn't help but laugh when one flew out the open window. He felt wild, crazy, in a way he'd never achieved without help from booze or pot.

There was some ache in Toby's neck and chest, and he'd never liked pain, but… Chris licked him again, caressing with his tongue, this time on Toby's thigh, and Toby knew what was coming.

He arched, wanting to scream and clapping his hands over his mouth to keep the sound he made inside. His father had gone to work, but his mother could be right outside the door for all he knew. He really hoped she wasn't.

"Oh, God," Toby said between clenched teeth. Chris shot him a killer smile and then ducked his head back down. Toby's cock loved the licking, but when Chris opened his mouth, Toby grabbed at him in fear. "Don't bite my dick. Please!"

"Just your nuts then." Chris laughed as he sucked, and Toby's world spun in giant circles. When he came so hard that he nearly passed out, nothing was in the same spot that it had been.

Chris kissed him, come dribbling between their mouths, and Toby waited for more of whatever Chris would give him. Toby had no illusions that he was in control of this situation.

It splattered against Toby's stomach while Chris groaned and shoved and bit all at once, all over him, and Toby went hazy, loving the sheer pleasure. When Chris collapsed down on him, Toby held him close, listening to the rumble of a howl.

"Not bad for a furbag," Toby said, yelping at the instant nibble to his ear. Chris laughed and the sound filled up an ache in Toby's gut.

"I hear your mother coming this way." Chris smirked, pulling off enough to crouch over him. Toby frowned, not knowing what to say, and in that instant, Chris changed into the wolf, jumping off the bed and out the window.

"Tobias? Are you all right in there?" Her voice held an edge that suggested tears.

"Fine, Mother!" Toby sprawled, enjoying the endorphin and orgasm high. He rubbed at his hurt nipple and smiled at the jolt. "I'm resting!" He giggled softly.

"Good!" She sounded pleased. "Get some sleep, and then we'll talk."

Toby didn't bother answering again, but after a bit, he wiggled under the covers and let his eyes shut.

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After a stumbled shower, he smeared some antibiotic cream on his bites and tried to hate them. He had no idea what to think about Chris, and part of him didn't want to try. Chris was Chris, and Toby wasn't drunk for a change, and his life was never going to be the same.

The craving darted through him, and he hunched from it, towel dropped to the floor. He needed a drink so damn bad, and he kicked his torn clothes aside as he went to his closet.

Shoving clothes back, he searched for something to wear that was comfortable. He settled on a Harvard sweatshirt that he'd never worn and a pair of jeans. Socks and tennis shoes, and he went for food. His stomach hurt like hell, but he had to eat and reassure his mother that he was alive.

"Tobias?"

Toby glanced up from his shoes and blinked at the surprised look on her face. "Mother?"

"I've just… never seen you dressed so casually." Her eyes were very wide. "Are you feeling better?"

"I need a drink. Right now." Toby didn't even take one step towards the buffet. "But since I can't, I'm going to try to eat something bland, like soup."

Her nod and sigh of relief was immediate. "I'll get with Consuela. Why don't you go sit at the table and have some coffee? It's fresh."

He shrugged, wishing they cared enough about him to actually remove the whiskey, vodka, rum, and other liquors from the house. He'd been stealing nips since he was twelve, and he was pretty damn sure they'd noticed. Slouching down at the table, he loaded the coffee with cream and sugar and tried not to stare longingly at the booze.

His mother soon joined him. "I saw the biggest dog in the yard today!"

Coffee flew all over the table, and he blanched as he wiped it up. "Sorry, Mother. I wasn't expecting that."

"I can tell." She sat down at the head of the table, in a not so subtle reminder that he was the child. "Consuela will bring your meal out in a moment. The dog was very large. Consuela screamed, but I don't think the dog meant any harm. He was just passing through."

"Or shitting on your flowers," Toby said, somewhat enjoying her wince of distaste at his obvious rudeness. Despite his stomach grumbling about the wait, all he did was sip his coffee and ache for whiskey. If Chris hadn't promised to kill him, Toby would've been swilling it down, but not for one minute did Toby think that Chris was joking.

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"Every night of the week?" Toby asked in disbelief.

"We find that people need that grounding at first," the earnest young pastor said, leaning forward, almost into Toby's personal space. "You'll appreciate the support as you deal with this."

Toby highly doubted it. "I'm not going to drink again," he said sadly, knowing he looked like a liar, but it was true, damn it. "Once a week will be fine."

"That's not how the program works." The pastor motioned to all the literature piled in Toby's lap. "Your first meeting is tonight at six. I'll see you there."

Laughing at him wasn't appropriate, but the lack of drink made him angry. "No, you won't, but thank you for stopping by."

"Tobias." One snapped word, and his mother thought she had him. He frowned, curling his lip and rising to his feet. The pamphlets slid to the floor to land in a heap. Stepping on them was childish, but he'd be fucked up the ass before he went in front of a bunch of strangers and poured out his life story.

The door bell rang, interrupting his grand exit, and he crossed to get it to avoid walking past his mother.

Surprise made the words catch in his throat. He stared, unable to think of anything beyond Chris' smile.

"Hey." Chris slouched, hands in his pockets, and a smirk on his handsome face. His very blue eyes practically glowed. "Want to get some lunch?"

"It's four o'clock in the afternoon," Toby said reasonably, "and, yes, thank you." He shut the door on his mother's protestations and followed Chris down the driveway. Chris' car was an old Camaro with plenty of rust and attitude. The bucket seats made Toby smile, remembering when this kind of ride was cool. "Thanks for saving me."

"I could smell your panic." Chris gunned it, backed out with a screech, and floored it. The car might've looked bad, but it sounded good, and Toby put on his seat belt to the sound of Chris' laughter.

"Nice car."

Chris laughed and threw a credit card at him. "Glad you like it. Since you bought it."

Toby stared down at the bit of plastic. "You stole this when you tore off my pants." He swayed as Chris turned a corner hard and roared down the road. "Chris, my dad is a lawyer, and he will arrest your hairy ass."

"Yup." Chris worked the gears like a master, and they were out on the Interstate, darting around cars and trucks. "He won't notice a small purchase. Now, if I'd bought a Beemer, you'd be screwed. Hell, you spend a couple a grand on lunch!"

"Not often," Toby grumbled, knowing it was true. He wasn't surprised that he wasn't angry. It was just money, and he had it to burn. Working for Daddy had been very profitable. "Beer run?"

Chris laughed loudly, cranked the radio, and drove faster. Toby stared down at the credit card for a long moment, and then something inside him broke open, leaving room for all the things Chris had planned for them.

"Let's go," Toby said with a grin.

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